


God Rest Ye Merry Mounties

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-02
Updated: 1999-04-02
Packaged: 2018-11-10 10:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11125089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A Christmas Story.





	God Rest Ye Merry Mounties

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

God Rest Ye Merry Mounties

*To Duesers and indeed all of mankind, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year- this message has been brought to you by the Church of Jesus Christ Of Latter-Day Saints* 

#  God Rest Ye Merry Mounties

Constable Benton Fraser looked at his watch casually while Ray Vecchio nervously studied the hands on his Timex that his cousin Al gave him last year. Anna, Fraser's daughter, had no concept of time. She played with the loose ends of her braids and teased Diefenbaker as they walked into the West Lane Mall. Christmas was fast approaching; snow covered the ground intermittedly and the halls of materialism were ept at making the joyous occasion as secular as possible, nary an angel of God nor the manger in Bethlehem in sight. 

"Benny," Ray remarked, "when they say peace on earth and good will towards men', that's crap. It's a dog-eat-dog world. You've got to barge your way through crowds, haggle, bribe. I don't even want to go through the ungrateful family' bit." 

"Ray, you're forgetting the joy and peace of the season." 

"What joy? What peace? You don't have my family and you don't know the people around here. Christmas is another word for, get out of my way, jerk'." 

A momentous crowd stood before Fraser and Ray. Ray slapped his head in disbelief. 

"Oh, great!" he complained. "Always a crowd on my lunchbreak." Ray turned to Anna. "Okay, kid, turn on the water faucets." 

Anna started to cry and beg for her mother. Ray held up his badge and moved through the crowd. Fraser was shocked; Anna had become too cunning under Ray's wing. 

"Ray, I can't believe you did that! And Anna! That behaviour is inexcusable." 

Anna simply shrugged. 

"Inspector Thatcher taught me how to do that." 

Ray laughed. He had a feeling that the Dragon lady had some tricks up her sleeve. He looked at his watch. 

"We have one hour to buy gifts with which we may curry favour with our superiors." 

Fraser shook his head. 

"Ray, that is such a materialist and cynical outlook. Why not purchase gifts as a good gesture?" 

"Oh, they are good gestures, Benny. Remember, the axe always swings in the new year. Make sure it doesn't swing your way." 

Anna pocketed the fifty dollars Ray's uncle gave her. 

"I still think the amount of money your uncle gave to Anna was excessive," Fraser said. 

"Are you kidding?!" Ray spurted. "If she were Italian, he would have given her a couple grand! Fifty bucks is nothing. I'm going to get something for Walsh. See ya later." 

Anna summoned Diefenbaker. 

"I'm going to go shopping, too." 

Fraser watched as Anna and Diefenbaker promenaded throughout the mall. He was now on his own. He had a rough idea of what he wanted to get everyone for Christmas. The notorious Slime-Dolls for Anna (sure, they made a mess, but what fun!), a rawhide donut for Diefenbaker, a dictionary cozy for Turnbull, a nice blouse for Elaine, a muzzle for Francesca (she collected them), a sandwich-holder for Walsh and a gable for Thatcher (he just felt she needed it). He did not know what to get Ray. He sat in his bed at night thinking of this. His friend who, though he barely understood him, stood by him for so long was a source of puzzlement in this season of giving. What to give a man who has everything? He also pondered Ray's words. Will the gifts he will buy reflect generosity and goodness or the smugness of sucking-up? Fraser was lost. He never really bought anything for anyone. The gifts he had given over the years reflected the art of his hands. The tie-rack made of moose antlers for his father; the hardened play-dough sculpture he had given to his mother at age four moulded carefully, lovingly into Godzilla (I don't think it was supposed to be Godzilla); a rendition of Edvard Munch's The Scream made entirely out of coleslaw he had given to his sister, Bess (she accepted no more gifts from him after that); the Chicken-Launcher for his grandfather and the tea-cozy in the Clan Fraser tartan for his grandmother. Were all his gifts a waste of time? Were they really appreciated (Grandad had great fun with the Chicken-Launcher) or did they sink the one whom the gift was intended into despair and madness (I think he meant to make a flower instead of Godzilla and hey, who doesn't like coleslaw and Munch?)? In order for things to be appreciated, must they be bought? Must everything be doused in the aura of commercialism?! Can't we get a better phone company?!?! 

Fraser walked on and contemplated everything he was going to buy. He walked into the Every Ladies' Boutique and approached the sales clerk. 

"Excuse me," he said in his polite and friendly tone, "I am looking for a blouse." 

The sales clerk looked at him. 

"I don't know if we have one in your size," she answered. 

Fraser let out a small laugh. 

"No, no, this is for a lady friend of mine." 

"That's what they all say," she said as she led him to a rack of blouses. 

Fraser picked out a cream-coloured shimmering blouse that apparently was Elaine's size (I am not sure how he acquired the size exactly but watch him next time as he asks her to look up a license plate number). 

"I will take this one," he said and offered the clerk some money. 

She shook her head. 

"It's not your size. Merry Christmas." 

Fraser thanked her and left the store very bewildered. 

Ray handled the items in It's a Man's World, a store for those who enjoy the scent of English leather, the class of oak as it is shaped gracefully into a pipe, the gilded prow of a miniature schooner reminiscent of those proud ships that left the ports of old London town, or those people who like wacky designs on their underpants. He spun the tie rack around and picked out a navy pinstripe one. Walsh would like this, he thought. He made his way to the counter. Then, he stopped in terror. The object of the gift, Walsh, was dead ahead. Walsh, too, stared at Ray. Ray looked at Walsh and Walsh looked at him. They tried to remain aloof but knew they could not keep the charade up for long. They neared one another carefully trying to conceal their prospective gifts. 

"Hello, Detective." 

"Hello, Lieutenant." 

"Christmas shopping, Vecchio?" 

"Yeah. You?" 

"Yes." 

Walsh looked at the tie. 

"Who's the tie for?" 

Ray was caught. What could he say? 

"It's for.. my mother." 

Ray looked at the package in Walsh's hand. 

"Nice shaving kit," he remarked. 

"Yes," Walsh concurred, "it's for my...aunt." 

"Really?" 

"Yes," Walsh agreed, "she collects them." 

Ray nodded. A silence fell between them. 

"Well, maybe I should get something for my nephew, Santino," Ray announced and walked away slowly from Walsh. Walsh carefully eyed Ray as he himself turned away. 

Anna walked through the china store and gazed at the decadently decorated crockery. 

"This will do nicely," she said to Diefenbaker who concurred by licking his lips. 

Fraser held on to his shopping bags firmly. He withstood the stares of the clerks and smiled proudly at his newly acquired gifts. There was the blouse for Elaine, tartaned oven-mitts for Bess (Clan Fraser, of course) and a model airplane for his nephew, Rory. The rawhide donut for Diefenbaker seemed commonplace enough. It was the muzzle for Francesca, though, that induced the clerk to warn him that his presence in the store would never again be tolerated. The stationary store stocked the dictionary cozy and the gable he so wanted for Turnbull and Thatcher. He went into Thingamajig. He picked up the plastic sandwich-holder for Walsh and a unique grooming device, a nose-hair curler, for Huey. He had a feeling that he would like it. The gift for Ray still plagued him. What could he get for him? At last, like the Star in the East, the oasis in the desert, the inukshuk on the snowswept tundra, the purple neon saying: BUY ME, BENTON! BUY ME!, the perfect gift for Ray stuck out. Fraser picked it up and admired it. 

"Ray will love this." 

Ray put the money on the counter. He smiled quietly to himself. 

"Benny's gonna like this," he said to himself. 

The final gift left for Fraser to purchase lay in the vast world that was Toyorama. He calmly walked in this pilgrim of patience as harried parents scurried down the aisles for battery-operated monster trucks, Tickle-Me-Elmers (Elmo's lesser-known cousin), Shiny Sherry's Playhouse and the ever-so-popular Slime-Dolls, those gruesome, gooey figures of fun. He wandered aimlessly down the aisles as if his presence there had no meaning. At last, the shelf that contained the desired toy appeared in view. A cascade of hurried humanity rushed with inhuman speed to the shelf that had the dolls and secondarily left once they had seized the prized toys. Only a solitary package swayed by the given momentum of the rush. Fraser strolled over to it, not realizing that this sought-after gift was being pursued by another man, more desperate than he. Seconds ticked away in the clock that is life in foreboding, tremulous clicks. The hand that had so many times saluted, punched evil-doers, measured the thickness of vaults with a tuning fork, held the hand of his daughter, now reached out for the doll slowly, carefully, finally. Fraser now looked at the doll he was about to buy for Anna. 

"Damn you!" he heard a voice cry. 

Fraser turned around. A fortyish man, his hair violently tousled, gaped at him. 

"Look," the harried man said as he reached into his pocket for his wallet, "what do you want for that doll? Fifty, sixty?" 

Fraser was puzzled. 

"Sir, I intended to buy this doll for my little girl. I am sorry. You will have to find another toy outlet that sells it." 

The man shook his head. 

"I have been looking for that doll everywhere. I will make it worth your while. How much do you want for that doll?" 

"I don't want anything for this doll," Fraser answered back. "I am going to buy it." 

Fraser turned to leave but was pinned to the ground. He struggled to get out from under the man's weight. 

"Sir, this act will achieve nothing. In fact, I am more determined to buy this doll than ever. Now, remove yourself from me or I will have to use force." 

"Never!" the man cried and intensified his lock around Fraser. 

Fraser released himself from the man's hold and ran to the counter. He began to see what Ray had been saying all along. This was the season to be brutal. A dog-eat-dog-world. Nothing Fraser did or said made any difference to the man. The man tried to grab the box but Fraser wouldn't let him have it. He jerked the man loose and tried to make it to the counter. The man charged at him and grabbed the box, crying triumphantly as he ran. Fraser was rather, nay , very annoyed. In the spirit of the season, Fraser dropped him. Picking up the box, he ran to the counter only to have the man tug at his leg and be dragged in a desperate bid to get the doll. When Fraser made it to the counter, the smiling clerk lifted up another package. 

"Good news!" she chirped, "Somebody returned their Slime-Doll in exchange for a Primping Patti." 

The desperate man grabbed the doll and threw a few bills on the counter. Fraser ran his fingers through his dark hair and sighed. But he truly felt ashamed. For one doll, he had dropped a man. He behaved irrationally. Solemnly, he pressed down the bills and walked away. 

"Keep the change," he said quietly. 

Fraser tipped his hat to Elaine in the precinct. She looked up to him with her warm brown eyes. 

"Did you want to say something to me?" she asked sweetly. 

"Yes," he said as he fingered the rim of his Stetson, "I wanted to ask you to dinner tomorrow?" 

Elaine couldn't believe it. He was asking her to dinner. Naturally, she would accept. 

"Dinner?" she echoed. 

"Yes," he replied, " a quiet candlelight dinner, just you and me-" 

She rose from her desk, breathless and in rapture. 

"-Anna and Diefenbaker, of course," he continued, which caused her spirits to swoop, "Ray, Leftenent Walsh, Detective Hughes, a few people from work, nothing really big." 

"Sure," she answered disinterestedly. Maybe next year. 

Thatcher scrawled her signature on the last of the forms to be filled out for the year. Sullenly, she kept her head down and tried to ignore Turnbull as he donned his parka getting ready to leave. 

"Are you doing anything for the holidays, Inspector?" he asked meekly. 

"No," she replied without looking up, "I'm spending the holidays on my own. It was a personal decision made by my friends." 

Turnbull was downcast. 

Fraser, shutting the drawer of his desk with a joyous finality, looked at Thatcher. 

"Why not spend a Christmas evening at my apartment?" 

Thatcher stopped her work and glared at him. 

"Are we forgetting the Balloon Incident'? I can't go anywhere near your apartment, I should say daughter, and you know that." 

"Not to worry," Fraser piped, "I've made sure that there are no balloons within a twenty-five kilometre radius of my apartment. In fact, I've even put the local novelty store out of business." 

Seeing she was defeated, and she was glad she was, she agreed to have dinner with Fraser. 

The snow fell lightly on Christmas Day. The cathedral bells rang out in peals of joy. People piled into Fraser's small apartment for dinner. Fraser handed each guest a small glass while Walsh was busy uncorking a bottle of vermilion liquid. Ray and Francesca intermingled Italian swear words with English dialogue. Thatcher desperately tried to avoid Anna who was busy talking to Turnbull about the complexities involved in tormenting mischosen. At last, Fraser called a toast. 

"Merry Christmas!" he cried and everyone concurred. 

Turnbull put the glass from his lips. 

"I would like to offer a toast to those who cannot be here tonight," he said. 

Everyone bowed their heads solemnly. 

"I have a small list," Turnbull continued, "Uncle Herb whose brain was sucked out by aliens out by Athabasca Flats..." 

"Enough of this crap!" Ray shouted. "Hand out the Christmas presents, already!" 

Huey slapped his head. 

"I didn't know we were handing out presents." 

He edged his way to the door and mumbled something about being back soon. 

"He forgot about us again," Elaine surmised and Ray nodded in agreement. 

Ray picked up a package and gave it to Francesca. 

"Here ya go, Frannie," he smiled. 

She lifted a coarse shirt from the bag. 

"A hairshirt! Oh thank you!" 

Diefenbaker growled lowly and hung his furry head in shame. As Francesca had been given a hairshirt he had been given a knit sweater in gaudy Christmas colours that she had made for him. 

Thatcher lifted a china doll in Victorian clothing from her shoulder bag and gave it to Anna. 

"Here you are. A doll you can't break. Try it." 

Enthusiastically, Anna thrust it against the wall. It didn't break. 

"Cool," Anna murmured. 

Elaine, with her arms behind her back, walked up to Anna. 

"I have something for you, too. It's a Gooey-Louie doll!" 

Anna's face lit up. 

"Oh thank you!" Anna cried in delight. "This goes with my Viscous Vivace doll." (Collect all the Slime-Dolls) 

Ray and Walsh slowly met each other. 

"Here you are, Detective," Walsh presented Ray a tie. 

Ray reciprocated the action by giving him a shaving kit. In an air of confusion, they walked away from each other. 

Turnbull lifted multi-coloured figures from a box. 

"What are these?" Thatcher asked. 

"These are likenesses of you," he replied, "I made them from Play-Dough." 

Anna started to hand out her special gifts-Santa Fe crockery. 

"Here, Daddy," she gave Fraser individually-wrapped plate, bowl and cup. 

She gave Turnbull a ladle to replace the one he had lost earlier. Elaine received a teacup and saucer and Thatcher a teapot, but neither would have tea together. Ray received all the cutlery he would ever use in his lifetime. Walsh was content with the bread-and-butter plate, as was Francesca with her extra-large spaghetti bowl. 

Ray lifted a large object from a bag and handed it to Fraser. 

"Here," I think you might like this." 

Fraser unwrapped it. It was an alabaster bust of Gordon Light foot. He was left speechless. 

"Thank you, Ray." 

Ray smiled. He was glad that he could make his friend happy. 

"I have something for you, too," Fraser said as he handed Ray a package. 

Ray took from Fraser. The gift was an omen, a sign indicative of the joy of giving. At last, Ray felt a peace. He finally understood what the season meant as he unwrapped the gift. He stared at it. 

"What the hell is this?!" 

The End 

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